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How can we bring Orenthal to justice?

by Ogi Overman

Before the Dems officially take their seats as the majority party of both houses of Congress, whaddaya say we sneak in another very minor abrogation of Constitutional freedoms. Before we begin this new day of restoring the America you and I grew up in – you know, the one that considers the rule of law sacrosanct – let’s make one more teensy-weensy exception. Hey, as long as we’re selectively surrendering our freedoms in the name of security, what’s one more right, right? Since the ends justify the means in this, the last throes of the Bush insurgency, what difference would one more exemption make?

I say we temporarily shelve that bit of jurisprudence mumbo-jumbo about double jeopardy, that legalese hooey that says you can’t be tried for the same crime twice. For that seems to be the only way justice can be served to one Orenthal Simpson.

And once he is tried and convicted, then perhaps we should do what Tony Snow says we don’t do yet everyone knows we do – torture – and let him die a slow, painful, lingering death. It would be simple: merely declare him a terrorist and let the cattle-prodding proceed. We should do things to him that would make waterboarding seem like a day at the beach.

Okay, back to reality. But it’s tempting, isn’t it? Even the most liberal live-and-let-livers among us wish there were some way Orenthal (I never refer to him by initials; that would be too close to a term of endearment) could get his just rewards. It is a genuine challenge to a belief system that values compassion and eschews vindictiveness, but, tell the truth, wouldn’t you like to see that low-life bastard suffer?

I would. I have come to grips with that suppressed part of my soul; I have come face to face with my dark side. I don’t want him to rot in hell; I want him to rot here on earth. And I don’t even care if Fox televises the maggots eating him. I don’t have to violate my philosophical opposition to the death penalty, because death is too good for gutter scum like Simpson.

I wish I could rise above it. I wish I could turn him over to God, secure in the knowledge that if there is a hell, he’s got a special seat with his initials on it. (Break’s over, Simpson, back on your head) but I can’t, I just can’t. I want his hell to be on earth.

Moreover, I want all those who allow him to revel in the fact that he got away with murder to suffer as well. Did I mourn, even for a moment, when Johnny Cochran died? Not one nanosecond. Plus, I’d like to see all his current lawyers who’ve allowed him to retain his assets in offshore accounts rather than pay one dime of the $33.5 million judgment against him be disbarred and end up crackheads.

I want all the golf courses where he’s allowed to play turned into condo developments, with the owners cut out of the profits so they can be donated to the Brown and Goldman families. I want all the women with whom he allegedly has sexual relations to get a sexually transmitted disease, preferably one that burns and itches a lot. I want those idiot autograph hounds to get run over by a truck before they can put his signature on eBay. I want Madame Lorraine down in Baton Rouge to stick pins in her Simpson voodoo doll every night at different parts of his anatomy, so he’ll never know where the pain might strike.

More than that, I want the publisher of his “book,” Judith Regan of ReganBooks, to be vilified by her peers and ostracized into bankruptcy. I’d like to see all her employees who quit in protest catch on at major houses at twice their current salaries and all those who stay on wind up in the cheese line.

But most of all, I want the executive at FOX who made the decision to air this travesty of sleazoid sensationalism (during sweeps, no less) to become a pariah in the ranks of legitimate journalism and be forced to become Simpson’s jock-sniffer. And would it be too much to ask that Australia native Rupert Murdoch get walloped by a wallaby and just fade into the Down Under sunset so that objective news reporting might have a chance to be resurrected?

Jeez, I know this is asking a lot, but finally, would it be possible that everyone who buys his “book” or watches the FOX show on his non-confession confession go deaf, dumb and blind? I know, that may be a tad harsh but, hey, at least they could still play pinball.

That’s more than Nicole Brown and Ron Goldman can do.

Ogi may be reached at ogiman100@yahoo.com, heard Tuesdays at 9:30 am on “The Dusty Dunn Show” on WGOS 1070 AM, and seen on “Triad Today” Fridays at 6:30 am on ABC 45 and Sundays at 10 pm on WMYV 48.

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